


In The Woods

by MoftissslilWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Experimentation, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoftissslilWriter/pseuds/MoftissslilWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John find themselves alone in a cabin in the middle of the woods for a case, what could possibly happen? John and Sherlock are both surprised by the forthcoming feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trouble With Wood

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback appreciated, of course!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here goes chapter one of my first multi-chap fic; no smutiness in this chapter, sorry. Feedback is very much appreciated!

     By John’s best estimations, he’d been asleep for over two hours. With Sherlock driving, he had been free to let the roar of the unnaturally large vehicle lull him to sleep. The only problem now was the fact that he had no idea where they were. He gathered what information he could: they were over two hours away from 221B, he was surrounded by trees, and he recognized none of his surroundings.

Hell, he was no Sherlock, he couldn’t piece together where they were.

“So, where are we?”

“Almost there.”

“Which is where exactly?”

“Some god-forsaken part of Wales.”

“Fair enough.”

     Once again, John found himself along for the ride on yet another of Sherlock’s adventures. He was content, especially because a cabin was mentioned in the plans, and John had always loved the outdoors- a cabin in the woods would suit him just fine. After his disastrous week, breaking up with his girlfriend and working long hours at the clinic, some fresh air in his lungs would not go amiss.

    Though he was all for the idea of being out in the woods, he began to worry slightly when they turned off the hardtop and onto the gravel road. That worry intensified when they then turned off the gravel onto the dirt…road, if you could call it that. They kept going, John suddenly thankful for their choice of vehicle, especially after they crossed over creek with no aid from any sort of bridge. John had seen houses sporadically, though they became sparse the farther they went. Eventually, approximately fifteen minutes since they had last scene any sign of human life, Sherlock maneuvered their all-terrain vehicle into the “driveway” of a small, run down cabin.

     John soon learned that the interior of the cabin was not nearly as bad as the outside lead them to believe- it had running water, after all. It consisted of two rooms: the all purpose room, centered around one large bed, and a bathroom. This, John decided, he could deal with. Somehow, sharing a bed with Sherlock seemed perfectly alright.

“Right then. What exactly are we doing here?”

“My imbecile of a brother wants me to do a favor for him. Apparently, some sort of war criminal is supposed to come traipsing through here tomorrow night, we are to find him and detain him. Dull.”

“Then why did you agree to the favor?”

“He said he’d make my excuses for me to Mummy for not being there for Easter.”

“How is this better than a family function?”

“Oh, John, you have no idea.”

     With that, John conceded that this was probably better than a Holmes holiday. He started to make himself at home, finding that the elder Holmes had been kind enough to stock the cabin with rations and toiletries, and an ax for firewood. The cabin did not have electric heating, thus making the chore of splitting wood a necessity, given the chilly late fall air. He’d get to that later, he decided, it was midday and he was perfectly warm in his jumper. In favor of doing the chore, he instead chose to take another nap.

_

     He awoke to find himself quiet cold, the evening setting in and bringing with it colder temperatures. He looked about, finding no sign of Sherlock, and therefore no sign of anyone else to go get wood to start a fire. He got up and set about looking for the ax, finding it MIA, much like his flat mate. It was about this time that John heard distinct grunting noises from outside. Somehow, in his relaxed and sleepy state, he had not heard the faint grunts and chopping noises coming from behind the cabin. Quickly donning the proper attire, John ventured out in search of the noise.

     To his surprise, rounding the corner of the building he saw one Sherlock Holmes wielding an ax; using it for it’s proper use, no less. John stopped dead, simply taking in the sights. Sherlock’s shirt rose with every down stroke, revealing the small of his surprisingly muscular back. Even more revealing and surprising were the sexual thoughts that were suddenly traipsing through John’s mind. The sudden mental images of Holmes naked and bent over caught the good doctor off guard, but they were only appetizers for the images created by the potent sound of Sherlock’s grunts and groans as he went about his chore.

     Sherlock, of course, knew John was watching. The world’s most observant man obviously was aware of his friend behind him, and that was before he heard John’s breath hitch. Why? He turned to face the other man, wiping the sweat off his brow as he went, only to see John…looking at his arse? Surely not. Sherlock had never seen John’s eyes wander when it came to men; he was too self-assuredly straight for that. Interesting. Perhaps something had changed his mind? His eyes were obviously dilated, coming to meet Sherlock’s, a somewhat guilty look plastered upon his face. This was obviously an area Sherlock needed to experiment in. Immediately.


	2. Trouble in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a bit of self-realization to do...and some things occur to prompt those inner monologues.  
> No smut yet, but close!

     John was mortified that Sherlock had caught him staring, but he was more worried about the very homosexual thoughts that had raced through his mind. Still, now was not the time to worry about it, he had to act natural:

“Oh, I see you’ve got this all taken care of, then.”

“Well, you were sleeping, John, I didn’t think you would do it, and I, for one, was cold.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Need any help?”

“No use now, I’m almost done.” John nodded, and then Sherlock began again, “You can just go inside and get back in bed.” With that, Sherlock winked, the first of his new collection of experiments, observing John’s reaction carefully.

Careful watching was not needed, as John’s reaction was rather blatantly becoming flustered.

“Ah, right then.” He nodded, quickly turning on the spot, and marching his arse back into the cabin with a renewed vigor. Sherlock smirk to himself, his plan now very clear to him: he was going to try to flirt with John Watson- for an experiment, of course.

     John shut the door of the cabin behind him, rubbing his hands over his face. What the bloody hell had all that been about? In his “crazy college years,” he will admit that he experimented with men, but that was no reason for the obviously sexual thoughts involving his flat mate. What had brought this on? Had he simply not thought of Sherlock as a sexual being until that moment? More importantly, did Sherlock WINK at him? No, no. Surely, it was a bit premature for him to have cabin fever. He paced through the cabin for a few minutes, trying to sort through his head. Fortunately, his head was rather forthcoming with the information that he was obviously attracted to his friend, flat mate, and colleague. Just. Brilliant.

     In that moment, John became desperate for a cup of tea. Heading towards the kitchenette area, he resolved that since Sherlock provided the firewood, he ought to cook dinner. Surely, even Sherlock would be a bit hungry after all was said and done. He scouted out the fridge and cupboards, eventually finding all the ingredients needed to make a simple curry.

     Just as he was beginning to prepare the dish, Sherlock came through the door-shirtless. He placed his shirt and jacket in the corner of the room on top of his luggage before removing his trousers. John tried to find his voice to protest, but his brain seemed to disagree with that idea, favoring instead the idea of simply observing the very sexy man disrobe.

“Curry? Lovely. I’m going to just pop into the shower, first.” Sherlock said, beginning to walk to the bathroom… but not before removing is pants as he walked, giving John a glorious view.

    With the door shut to the bathroom, John found his flustered persona returned. He would have to talk to Sherlock about privacy and boundaries and wearing pants, at least! If not, John’s poor heart might give out. This was all so sudden- had Sherlock always been so…flirty?

Tea. John needed tea.

     Behind the safety of the bathroom door, Sherlock smirked to himself. His soldier obviously was attracted to him, he’d proven it. With the gapping mouth, the pupils the size of saucers, not to mention how John seemed to shower attention with his eyes upon the exposed nether regions, Sherlock had plenty evidence to prove Watson’s attraction. Somewhere in him, though, he felt this rush, this need to continue toying.

     Sherlock froze. Was that rush attraction? Suddenly, this experiment seemed to backfire. That rush, yes, that one, was it…? Yes. Logically, Sherlock recognized that that was, indeed, that sensation, but it was still hard to accept. But was it? John was objectively aesthetically pleasing, and he was already a massive part of Sherlock’s life- was it that hard to fathom Sherlock would develop these reactions? No, not at all. That settled it, then, his brain supplied- Sherlock Holmes is attracted to John Watson, and he wishes to continue to gain the satisfaction of “flirting” with the other man.  
Well, at least he was honest with himself.

     In the other room, John tried not to imagine a naked Sherlock lathering himself in the hot shower. The thing about not thinking about things is, by trying not to think of them, you think of them. Visions of the planes of Sherlock’s pale, toned body with cascading water flowing downward upon him conquered John’s mind. Luckily, he could cook a curry while his brain was on auto-pilot, a product of his sleep-deprived med school years. Midway through this train of thought, John became aware of the tightness in his jeans. Did he really have a…? He looked down. Bloody hell, what was he, fifteen? Where did he go wrong in his life that he stood cooking dinner for his flat mate with the beginnings of a massive hard-on for the aforementioned, very male, flat mate? Quick, think of things to make it go away- Mrs. Hudson, Mycro…wait, if he was attracted to Sherlock, was he attracted to other men? He thought about it. Mycroft? No, God, no. Greg? No, not really. Good. He could defiantly handle just being Sherlock-sexual. With that resolution in his head, John sighed, willed his crotch to relax, and made dinner.


	3. The Uses of Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to kill John Watson, in one short chapter ;)

     Sherlock showered lackadaisically; his body was still just transport, after all. Stepping out, he toweled off, tucking the towel loosely around his waist. In his head, he mapped out all of the evil seductive things he could do to make John react, then imagined John’s reaction. He refused to call this fantasizing, this was scientific, but he did get some amount of pleasure from the images. Taking care to make sure the towel was riding oh-so-very-low on his hips, Sherlock left the bathroom.

     John had been doing well. By that, he meant that the pressure in his trousers had subsided…until Sherlock came traipsing back into the room in nothing but a towel. Sherlock had to be purposefully teasing him! There was no reason fo…

     With that, Sherlock bent over to grab into his suitcase for clothes, allowing the towel to fall with his actions, revealing his lush arse. Now, John was not usually a sensitive man, but for some reason Sherlock Holmes had managed to null and void that statement; by that converse resolution, John was helplessly aroused by the sight of Sherlock’s fully naked and slightly wet body. John’s eyes followed the path of one drop of water dripping from Sherlock’s hair down the path it laid down the expanses of Sherlock’s seemingly flawless body. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind John’s blatant stares; contrariwise, he seemed to put on a show for John. Sherlock grabbed a pair of black boxer-briefs, slowly pulling them up his legs, shimmying them into their finally place. Then the trousers, jeans bought specially for this case, received a similar treatment. To conclude this reverse-striptease, Sherlock slowly buttoned up a simple fleece button up.

    Sherlock hated the outfit, as much as he hated taking the case, but he loved every second of John’s attention. John was practically drooling, putty in Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock then proceeded to act like nothing had happened, returning his towel to its proper place, and then setting about actually starting the fire that started this whole shenanigan.

     John, for his part, had to actually shake himself to get himself back to rights before he burnt their dinner. By the time he was down to only a vague warmth and tingle in his groin, the food was ready. Calling Sherlock to the small, intimate table for a meal was essential suicide for the poor doc. Sherlock came as he was called for, appreciatively eating the meal provided, moaning around his utensil as he slide it from his mouth with each bite. John was in hell. Every fantasy imaginable played in his brain, despite his pleas to his brain to cease. If something did not change in the scenario, either John would be the first human casualty of arousal, or he’d have to have his companion right there, on the table.

    Sherlock continued his little show, thrilling on the inside at its success. How far could he go? Could the tingle that resided in him now get better with John’s help, perhaps? Maybe one step further wouldn’t hurt…Sherlock winked at John, spoon in mouth.

     John’s brain, previously occupied with the most primitive of thoughts, sparked into function at that moment: Sherlock WAS doing this purposefully! The wink proved it! Did that mean that Sherlock wanted…? One way to find out: John Watson would flirt with Sherlock Holmes.


	4. If You Go Out In The Woods Tonight...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting somewhere!

     When you get two people shamelessly flirting with one another, things can progress rather quickly. This trend is soon to be exemplified by one consulting detective and his blogger. As soon as John decided to flirt with Sherlock, he began deploying all of his tricks, plus all of the tricks he’d learned from a buddy at uni useful for picking up blokes.

     John bit his lip and smiled, shamelessly watching Sherlock. Once he caught Sherlock’s eye, he winked, causing the detective to sputter for a moment. Sherlock, picking up that John was now, too, playing, stepped up his game. He began rubbing his hand up and down his thigh, “subconsciously” drawing attention to his crotch. Here began the sexiest war of tit-for-tat retaliation. John, taking his cue, then readjusted himself in his trousers in full view of his partner. To this, Sherlock smirked, finishing his dish.

“The curry was absolutely orgasmic, John, thank you,” Sherlock said with a smirk, “I think I’ll do the washing up as repayment for the meal…well, if that’s what you want as repayment…” the look on his face clearly conveying the other options for payment.

“No, no, the washing up would be great!” John assured.

     Sherlock didn’t actually think he’d end up doing the washing up when he offered, but he set to work anyway. Whatever John was playing at, the shock of Sherlock doing a chore would surely set him off a bit. He piled the dishes into the sink, beginning the tedious chore.

“Actually, I think I’ll help you.”

     John came up behind Sherlock, his hand resting on the taller man’s arse, and began to try to help from that position. Though doing little to actually aid in the dish washing process, it did give Sherlock an idea for the perfect plan. He backed himself into John, grinding into the crotch of the doctor. Involuntarily, John released a low moan, and then he thrust himself against Sherlock’s rear, eliciting a small gasp from the raven-haired man.

     This had gone on long enough: John spun Sherlock around so that they were face to face. John wanted to yell at him, bellow how he was not to be one of Sherlock’s experiments, and how he was tired of Sherlock being such a fucking tease….but Sherlock’s face betrayed how flustered he was, the blush in his cheeks and look in his eyes revealed how alike John he was in that moment.

     Before John could figure out what to say, what to do, Sherlock took him by surprise once again. Sherlock took John’s chin in hand before leaning in and leaving a chaste kiss on John’s lips. Sherlock then quickly pulled back; face depicting a child whom was afraid of being scolded. John smiled softly at the innocence of the gesture, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and stroking it reassuringly before leaning in to reclaim Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock released a breath he had been holding, melting into the kiss, melting into John.

     At some point, neither party could identify exactly when, the kiss began to evolve. It went from a timid first kiss, to a loving proper kiss, somehow then escalating with increasing abandon. Soon, the initial chaste kiss was contrasted sharply with what could only be described as wanton snogging. Their hands roamed, their tongues fighting for dominance. John briefly wondered if this was a new territory for Sherlock, but that inquiry was silenced by the needs of his body, and it did nothing to hinder him from lifted Sherlock up enough to place him on the counter, the new position allowing a dazzling new variety of options for his hands and lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quiet sure where to go with this story, so any input would be appreciated. I don't know if you just want to me get to them shagging and be done, if you'd rather this become a whole story of falling in loves, or if this becoming a "multiple sex scenes and done" fic would be preferable. Let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Put quite simply, this consists of smut- and that's all.

Dearest Reader:  
     Have you ever felt like your body wants something more than what just you can provide it with? Has it ever been so bad you can’t think? Ever had your knees weaken, your voice act of its own accord? Have you ever been so turned on that every touch is electric, and every fiber of your being sings with pleasure and desire?

Sherlock hadn’t- until that moment.  
     The things John did to him, using his lips and his hands- oh God, his hands. The sudden realization that he needed and wanted John was enough to make him forfeit control entirely. He couldn’t stop the whimpers and moans springing from his lips. John massaged Sherlock’s cock through the jeans, his other hand unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt, revealing the fevered, sensitized skin below. He used his lips to find the most receptive spots on Sherlock’s neck, reveling in the auditory feast he provided in response.

     John took the greatest pleasure in unraveling his partner, watching as Sherlock obviously could not help himself from enjoying the attention John provided. For all those times John had praised him, worshiping his genius, he was now paid back in full as Sherlock cried out exaltations of John’s brilliance.

     Soon enough, Sherlock regained composure enough to begin to pay John back in kind. He reached between them, unbuttoning John’s trousers, and then pulled the zipper down at a tantalizing pace. John groaned, bucking his hips, bringing a smirk to Sherlock’s lips.

“Fucking prick, you’ve had your fun being a tease-”

     With that, John divested Sherlock of his trousers, snaking his hand into the taller man's pants. John ghosted his fingers across the erection straining the fabric there- the sensation was such that it made Sherlock stop, throw his head back, and gasp:

“Oh, oh my God.”

Every filthy word John wanted to say, calling Sherlock a tart, berating him for being such a tease and a slut, died on John’s lips.

“Tell me you want this…”

“Yes! Please John, please,” Sherlock sobbed, running his hands down John’s body, desperate for anything, for everything.

     The jolt of arousal that came from hearing Sherlock beg made John impossibly hard. He reclaimed Sherlock’s lips with his, meanwhile removing Sherlock’s pants. Sherlock’s erection sprang free, fully hard and, if John could say so himself, fucking gorgeous. John took Sherlock’s member in hand, swirling pre-come around the head before slowly sliding down the shaft, up again, enjoying Sherlock’s reactions. Sherlock was flushed, blissfully ignorant of how utterly fucked he looked. He looked amazing, lost in the sensations he had denied his body for so long.

     John’s other hand freed his own erection, aware of how very little it would take to push him over the edge. He leaned his forehead against Sherlock’s, marinating in the intimacy of the moment. Sherlock’s hands grasped onto John, his only connection to the world around him.

“I want to see you come.” John whispered, causing Sherlock’s hips to snap up to meet John’s hand. They were both so close, so very close. Sherlock couldn’t hold on any longer, John touched him just how he needed to, wanted to, craved to be touched. John increased the pace, twisting and pumping until Sherlock came, moaning loudly and coating John’s hand. The sight before him then caused John to quickly follow suit, coming harder than he had ever in his life, Sherlock’s name on his lips.

Slowly, they both regained mental capacities and motor functions; John then helped Sherlock into bed before they both promptly passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

Sunshine- bright, shining directly through the window. From this, John could deduce that it was morning.

Warmth- pressing against him, spooning him. Smell- musky, familiar. His memory returning from the night before…From this, John could deduce that Sherlock was spooning him.

     Between those two deductions, John pieced together quite quickly that he was currently experiencing “the morning after,” and he now had a choice to make: he could untangle himself from Sherlock, shower, and go for a walk- essentially performing a walk of shame and pretending the night before hadn’t happened, or he could remain there in the curve of Sherlock’s body. True, he’d have to sort out what happened, have “the talk” with Sherlock, and deal with the realization that his sexuality was apparently far more fluid than first assumed if he stayed, but that seemed a perfectly fair trade for just the feelings he was experiencing at the moment- and the knowledge that Sherlock Holmes was a snuggler after sex.

     John made the decision to stay, if for no other reason than it felt right. Then, in reaction to that decision, John took the opportunity to think things through in the peace and quiet. How had some sort of flirting game landed him in this position? More importantly, since when did “some sort of flirting game” lead to John having genuine feelings for the other party? Because that’s what this was, John decided, the feeling thrumming through his body was the rush of falling for someone- hard.

     Then, a single thought stopped John dead, inspiring genuine fear in the older man: what if Sherlock regrets this happened? This was just a game to him, an experiment- oh God, what if he deduces his feelings and leaves? No, no, please no. John tried to shake the thoughts from his head, but there was a point in there. Sherlock was not known for his emotions, so believing that somehow one night in bed would change the sociopath’s heart was moronic, at best. John had to be realistic- this wasn’t a movie, this wasn’t a romance novel, this was Sherlock. Plus, what did he think was going to happen? They shagged as a result of a few hours of blatantly sexual hints- that’s hardly a story you tell future generations.

“You’re thinking too loudly.” Sherlock grumbled into John’s shoulder.

John mumbled his apologies and they were silent for a moment.

“Given your suddenly tense persona and physicality, I’m assuming you’re having some sort of internal crisis, and given the context, I’m assuming I’m part of the reason.”

John did not roll over to face Sherlock.

“Yeah, great deduction that.”

“John.”

No response.

“John.”

No response.

     With that, Sherlock shifted his weight to his upper body, using one hand to push John flat on his back, straddling him in one quick motion. Before John could question it, Sherlock’s lips descended upon his, taking John by surprise. Unlike the kisses the night before, this kiss was not the product of, nor the predecessor to sex. This was sweet, yet there was a longing- not for one another’s body, but for one another as wholes. John’s lips were yielding, parting to Sherlock’s. The detective hummed approvingly, slowly introducing tongue to the equation. John did the same, their tongues working like the tides into one another’s mouths, morning breath disregarded in an effort to assure one another of their feelings with something somehow more potent yet less scary than words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry about the erratic posting schedule. I know I don't write much, but it's been hard to find time to sit and right just that. I'm trying to get better, though!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had to talk about what happened at some point...

     John’s inner turmoil concerning his relationship with Sherlock dissipated then disappeared completely with the aid of Sherlock’s lips, the flesh acting as a soothing balm to every sting or burn. A logical person would have advised against the kiss or in anyway further complicating the situation if they were in John’s position, but the most logical man John knew was currently doing just that.

     They lost track of time, letting their mouths do as they do, finally separating; it turns out timey-whimey is defiantly wibbly wobbly, especially when you’re preoccupied. The pair looked at one another, surveying the marks they’d left: the swollen lips, the dilated pupils.

“Are you alright now?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but Sherlock…”

“What?”

“Why?”

“Why what, John?”

“Everything. Why did you kiss me just then, why did you flirt with me all of a sudden, why did we do that- why?”

“I believe I’ve commented upon you lack of ability to see what’s right in front of you before, John, and I loathe to repeat myself, but I will indulge you: I flirted with you because you showed interest and I got a reaction. I spent a lovely mutual orgasm with you because I chose to indulge the physiological reactions you created within my person. I kissed you just now because I wanted to assure you that I do not wish to forget last night, and to quiet your very loud thinking. Happy?”

     John nodded dumbly, trying to process the information. By no accounts was Watson a stupid man, but sometimes, like now, he simply wished Sherlock could dumb it down a tad so that John could decipher the information without having to break it down as he did now. From what John could translate, essentially Sherlock had just said the following:  
  *I was fucking with you  
  *You made me horny, so we did things and I enjoyed them  
  *I don't want to forget last night  
Brilliant- the beginning part was disconcerting, but the rest John could definitely live with.

“Yeah, yeah I guess I am happy.”

“Good, now can you get me some tea?”

“…yes.”

And with that, though with a smile on his face, John got up to reluctantly make tea for the pair of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry my posting has been so sporadic and the chapters so short! I'm working on it, promise! In the meantime, comments and feedback and such are very much appreciated.
> 
> Ta!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea. Just....tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of fluff and romance, though I do see some smut on the horizon ;)

            Sherlock watched John putter around the kitchenette area, busying himself with the tea-making process. For someone so easily bored, he took no issue with watching the man perform that most menial of tasks. There was something about John that made whatever he was doing if only a tiny bit interesting. In laymen’s terms, John Watson was considered not boring by Sherlock, something that was nothing sort of a miracle. Hell, he must have it bad for the man…

 

            John made tea, returning to the bed with two steaming mugs. Handing one cuppa off to Sherlock, he attempted not to spill the other as he returned back under the covers, leaning up against the headboard, tugging some of the duvet off of Sherlock to drape over himself. John sat in just that fashion, simply sipping his tea, smiling to himself at how happy he was in that moment.

 

            Sherlock, for his part, sat facing John, yet he chose to study the man opposite. A small, private smile tugged at John’s lips, the wrinkles in his face somehow smoothed by the pleasantness of simply being a part of John on this beautiful morning…-what had happened to Sherlock’s mind to make it produce such poetic dribble? It was John, John’s effect on him, he was sure of it, and though he hated what it did to him, he dared not deny himself what his body and mind craved so much: John.

 

            Speaking of not denying himself his craving for John, Sherlock saw himself faced with a tiny bit of a dilemma: Sherlock suddenly felt the urge to touch John, and to have John touch him like he had the night before, but the problem there within being that he had no idea as to how to make that happen. Sherlock had never been “up” on social rules and this was one particular area that suddenly perplexed him. Did he just go for it because John said yes the last time? Did he start the whole process over and begin “flirting” again? Does the inclusion of emotion factored in now mean there were new rules?

 

Sherlock didn’t know.  

 

            This lack of understanding translated to his face, unbeknownst to him, communicating his distress to John. Sherlock paid no attention to John, lost in his head, missing the questioning look from his dear doctor.

 

“Sherlock?”

 A beat, no answer.

“Sherlock?”

A moment, no answer.

  
  
“Earth to the lanky git in bed with me!”

 

Sherlock’s head snapped up, breaking out of his trance.

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“Everything alright?”

 

 “Yes, yes, of course- why wouldn’t it be?”

 

 “I don’t know…well, what were you thinking about just then?”

 

“Oh, ah,” Sherlock struggled for words, sparking a small about of alarm in John, “um…”

 

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong, John, I’m just…I’m just…”

 

“Just what?”  
  

Rather than become more flustered, Sherlock took a deep, cleansing breath, and began anew:

“All of this- you and I, a sexual relationship- is rather new to me, as you probably expected, thus I find myself at a loss, which is…frustrating. I find myself questioning and doubting everything, John, and not being certain of anything is not an acceptable mode for me. It baffles me as to the protocol in this situation, and it pains me to admit that I do not know how to proceed. I want to touch you John, to make you feel as you did last night, may I do that?”

 

Instead of answering, John removed the cups of tea from both sets of hands, setting them on the bedside table, crawled closer Sherlock until they were near enough to feel one another’s heat, then nodded his head twice- _yes_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, as promised.

 

            Sherlock was thrilled his social ineptitude seemed to have worked in his favor, just this once. Now, however, he was faced with a new dilemma: where to touch first?

 

     He cupped the back of John’s neck, pulling him into a kiss, then letting one hand wander down John’s chest, fingers providing sensory information that was cataloged immediately. Cheesy and idiotic as it was, Sherlock wanted a special room in his MindPalace specifically to house the information pertaining to how John felt under his touch. Their mouths worked with one another as Sherlock’s hand caressed every inch of skin he could reach. In return, John rubbed one hand up and down the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, secretly delighting in the small sounds Sherlock made in response. 

 

     A few moments later, John, assessing by touch that Sherlock was now fully hard, decided to make the next move. He pushed Sherlock back onto the bed, placing a trail of kisses from his lips to his hips, fully aware of Sherlock’s slightly anxious, inquiring gaze.

 

     Sober, John had never attempted to what he planned to do next, lowering his mouth to plant an open-mouth kiss on the head of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, biting back a moan. Confidence instilled by Sherlock’s reaction, John got bolder, pumping Sherlock’s member, then lowering himself to take as much of Sherlock into his mouth as possible, sucking lightly. Sherlock hips snapped up to meet John’s lips, Sherlock obviously never have been graced with that particular sensation before. His hands scrambled to gain purchase on something, balling into fists in the sheets.

 

     John, eager to make Sherlock come undone, ceased his actions just long enough to take one of Sherlock’s hands and guide it to the back of his head, giving Sherlock the power to aid in his own pleasure. John resumed, one hand working the base of Sherlock’s length, tongue swirling the underside and tip, and mouth eagerly accepting all Sherlock offered. In return, Sherlock’s wanton moans filled the silence along side the wet sounds of their actions.

 

    The sight of Sherlock so entirely so entirely debauched did…things…to John- things his groin reflected eagerly. John’s other hand left Sherlock’s, snaking down to his own cock, pleasuring himself to the rhythm Sherlock set. Sherlock being so responsive, and John so enjoying Sherlock’s being so responsive meant that it did not take long or much for both men to feel they were reaching their peaks. John felt the tension rolling off of Sherlock, warning him, leaving John to jerk himself more furiously. Sherlock, incapable of full speech, attempted some sort of warning, but John stayed on, working himself and Sherlock to completion, swallowing Sherlock’s come without so much as batting an eye, skills completely returned from his college “experimental period.”

 

     John pondered that fact as he began to clean himself up and set Sherlock to rights, “I suppose,” he thought, “that sucking cock is kind of like riding a bike like that.”…with that thought, John began to laugh a laugh that only a man high off of orgasm could laugh, chuckling just for the sake of chuckling, chuckling at himself for something he said inside his own head. To his pleasure, Sherlock joined in, laughing at John laughing seemingly just for the hell of it. It was like this they crawled under the covers again, allowing themselves a good laugh in each other’s arms. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter...

            Resting in the curve of Sherlock’s body, a sudden realization began to sour John’s bliss: weren’t they supposed to be on a case? They were to catch a criminal, not reenact _Brokeback Mountain_! Fuck. John had forgotten all about their original purpose, which could possibly be very, very dangerous, knowing Sherlock.  John repositioned himself to address Sherlock:

"Sherlock?"  
  
"Hmm?" 

"Don't we have to get up and, ah, catch a badie?"

"Perhaps- but I'd rather stay in bed and fuck."

            Those words, in that formation, coming from the mouth of Sherlock Holmes, directed at him, nearly caused the death of John. That had to be the most tempting thing ever said in the history of the universe, in the history of any universe in which things have sex. 

“Oh, God, yes,” John moaned as he went to claim Sherlock’s mouth with his. In that second, Sherlock bounded from the bed, moving to his suitcase and beginning to dress himself.  
  
“But you’re right, we need to get moving into position, he’ll be moving through here in about two hours.” 

John flopped back onto the bed, mumbling something about Sherlock being a “bloody, stupid tease,” before gathering himself up and heading towards the shower. 

            John took a long, long shower. Part of the reason was that he hoped that Sherlock would decide to join him, though that didn’t happen. The other part, however, was just to allow himself the time to fully enjoy how good he felt- you know, before he went off chasing some criminal. 

            By the time he emerged from the bathroom, shaved, clean, and clothed, Sherlock was already read to go, flouncing about the room like a tornado of anxious energy. Though Sherlock was fully clothed, articles of clothing were strung about the room, the epicenter of which being an overturned suitcase. Sherlock was pacing, finding little things to toy with to keep his hands busy:

“Ah, John, good, you’re out, now we can go?”  
  
“Go?”

“Yes, go- ‘catch the badie,’ as you said.”

“Oh, I didn’t know we were in a hurry…”

“Yes, well, if we finish doing what we must, we can go home.”

“Why the sudden need to get home? I haven’t even heard you complain all trip…”

“But the sooner we get home, the sooner I can start my new series of experiments.”

John frowned, had he bored Sherlock so quickly? “Oh. Right then. What experiments, then?”

“Well, I was hoping to, with consent, explore the reactions to sexual stimuli of one Doctor Watson.”  
  
John laughed- leave it to Sherlock to honest, yet somehow cheesy. John, with a blush beginning to creep upon his features, crossed the room to kiss Sherlock soundly.  
  
Breaking away, John, taking the opportunity to take his turn as the tease, ran his hand up Sherlock’s thigh:  
  
“I’ll tell you what- finish up here, and when we get home, I’m all yours.”

 

And that, my dear reader, is why that instance turned into the quickest Sherlock Holmes has ever closed a case.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we are. It's short and didn't really go anywhere, but hell, I enjoyed writing it. I apologize, though- life's been hectic, so I decided to just put and end onto this, instead of having you all hang on for nothing. Thank you all!


End file.
